


Serendipity

by BottomlessAbyss



Category: the GazettE
Genre: Adultery, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Prostitution, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-14 19:55:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19280059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BottomlessAbyss/pseuds/BottomlessAbyss
Summary: "After all, love wasn't for people like him."





	1. Chapter 1

The bed was big and comfy, could still barely fit six people, but for just Kouyou - or Kouyou and Takanori both - there was more than enough room to keep anything from getting weird, probably. He'd managed to pull himself up into sitting by the time Takanori knocked from outside the hotel room door, calling him in and reminding him to make sure the door was locked behind him.  
  
" _There_ you are." He mused with a lazy smile.

 An impressed whistle filtered from his puckered lips as he revealed himself fully, arching an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you get around like this,” Takanori greeted with a teasing quirk of a smile, leaning against the wall beside him as he folded his arms across his chest and eyeing Kouyou from where he shifted his weight to his left hip. “Anything else you wanna fill me in on, Shima?”  
  
Kouyou snorted. "My _clients_ get around like this,” he corrected. “I work in hotels. Being nice to the housekeepers is the best way to get decent service. Now, get your tiny ass in here. Order something off the room menu to soak up all those shots I heard you drink. You'll appreciate me in the morning." Kouyou didn't care that it was overpriced and ridiculous when he wasn't the one who had a credit card on the tab. It was common knowledge when you bought a room for a rent boy you were going to lose at least a hefty price on the tab. They might get bent out of shape over it, but between the lot of them, they could certainly pay it. "Let me see your wrist." His high was already wearing off again – coke always wore off so quickly – so it made him reach out for Takanori all languid and slow, lazy.

Takanori scoffed, a small pout managing to steal its way to the forefront as he sucked his teeth. “You didn’t hear anything,” he mumbled, pushing himself off the wall nice and easy so that he could make his way over just as told. His bag was what he tossed aside and left by the nightstand, standing close and looking for the menu Kouyou spoke of. When he found it, he grabbed for it and tucked a leg underneath himself when sitting on the edge of the bed with Kouyou’s guiding hands reaching for him after he removed his shoes.

"You shouldn't have hit him–”

Takanori huffed, defensive. “I know–”

“–but I bet you didn't leave a mark like this." Kouyou pointed out with a frown as he took in the bruise encircling the other’s slender wrist that bloomed purplish-red., ever so gentle and careful even as he turned Takanori’s arm in his hold. It wasn't right. Takanori deserved someone better. Would he leave his husband if Kouyou told him the truth? Maybe, but where would he go? What would he do? What would Kouyou do? It was too much to consider, and once again he found himself deciding that he just couldn't.

These days it felt like he kept having to make that decision every time he saw him.  
  
Takanori shook his head. In the end, to him, it didn’t matter how bad it was. His bruise would heal and fade, and… what happened will try to be amended for. He didn’t need forgiveness, but at least he would be the first to admit to what he shouldn’t have done. And for that, he would be apologetic for. They’ll work it out tomorrow if his husband would spare him the time to talk. Internally, he sighed. If he went ignored tomorrow, he’d understand. “It’s stupid, don’t worry about it,” Takanori assured absently. “It didn’t look so bad earlier, I promise.” His eyes languidly roamed the selections of food he could order in via the telephone on the nightstand, but it was Kouyou’s silence that made his hooded, slightly red eyes glance over at him. “How’re _you_ feeling?”  
  
"Hmmm." Kouyou didn't give him much of an answer except a noncommittal hum, because while Takanori and he were trying this 'open' thing when it came to information about his job at least, he probably didn't need to hear details about the client he was hired for.  
  
Takanori didn’t push for an answer, and Kouyou was grateful. He didn't want to talk about it. Just like Takanori seemed to not want to talk about his own bruises, so he let him be, only nodding in agreement as if it were some unsaid queue. But what silence gave to Takanori created a bit more awareness in his alcohol-muddled mind to the fact that Kouyou, upon further inspection, also had bruises. Bruises that marked the hands that handled his bruised wrist, arms, even more on his hips and thighs, but the boxers and t-shirt he wore mostly hid them well. They were marks Kouyou made people pay extra for, he knew, but it was something he fuzzily recalled his old childhood friend not liking so much.    
  
Turning his wrist carefully in Kouyou’s grasp, he used the leverage he had to catch ahold of Kouyou’s hand before he could retract it and he didn’t stop, didn’t pause to catch his gaze as he brought it close for his viewing. His hands mimicked the kind, careful treatment Kouyou had given to him, near-permanent-bedroom eyes so intent to see the bruises that he knew hadn’t been there the last time he saw him. A palm steadily scaled up the underside of Kouyou’s arm to outstretch the limb more comfortably and, once scooting up closer on the bed’s edge so he wasn’t leaning from an awkward distance, he dipped his head to press the softest kiss he could muster to a bruise at his arm, leaving in its wake a print of his lipstick. Kouyou's breath hitched in his throat a little.  
  
_Oh_.  
  
It was a thoughtless action. An action running on the fumes of care and wanting to cover what marked him. It was a temporary fix, but Takanori found the action satisfying all the same and he did it again, took his sweet time; as if he had all the time in the world. Another bruise, another patch-up in the form of dusky red lipstick that, whenever he pulled back to marvel at his own work, he erased with his thumb to smear it away. Gone, but still there in traces. When he reached the inner side of Kouyou’s wrist, he let Kouyou’s palm cup his cheek and leaned into it, holding it in place for a moment before turning just enough to press his lips deeper and linger, with no intention to clear it away like he had done the rest. His eyes swept over it with satisfaction before leaning back into Kouyou’s palm, and then, only then, he glanced up at Kouyou under the fan of his eyelashes; inky locks spilling over a shoulder.  
  
It had been far too long since Kouyou wanted to sleep with someone. Sure, he got attractive clients sometimes that he didn't mind, but if they'd approached him in a bar, or weren't paying him, he still wouldn't have wanted to. Sex wasn't something he wanted all that often. Despite his job, he didn't exactly do anything casual. Without the involvement of feelings, it was just work. Why would he work if he wasn't getting paid, right? But watching Takanori made him want. He didn't even know if he could get off right now, between his previous client and the bump of coke left as a tip with his payment, but that wasn't really what he cared about. What he wanted was to push Takanori back, lay him out, make him moan–  
  
“Want to lay down with me after I eat?” Takanori asked in a low murmur with a soft, short-lived quirk of an eyebrow and a tiny smile that cut into Kouyou’s reverie. It was a question Kouyou could give him a verbal answer to, this time. “Help me undress?”  
  
"…Yeah." Kouyou still hadn't moved his hand from his cheek, hadn't realized he'd been stroking the skin with his thumb until Takanori turned away to shed off his blazer and unbuckle his belt. He needed to get himself together.  
  
That was hard to do when Takanori moved his hair aside so Kouyou could unfasten his necklace while the other fiddled with the buttons of his shirt. He almost managed to control himself, unfastening the hook and leaning over to place aside the necklace on the nightstand by the phone, fingers hovering near the bottom of Takanori’s spine, just before the curve of his arse. But almost didn't win him any prizes, because when Takanori's shirt slacked down his shoulder to expose skin to the air conditioner’s chilly air, Kouyou couldn't help but slowly slide his hand along the warm skin shown to him.  His fingers splayed atop the scatter of tiny moles and faint freckles, eyes soaking them in like constellations painted across a night sky, before descending his mouth to press wet heat to the juncture where shoulder and neck met, lingering there. Takanori’s breath hitched audibly in surprise, a soft, wordless, tiny noise around the part of his lips it slackened around as his eyelashes fluttered, and it seemed as if he thought nothing of it to tilt his head and expose the length of his neck just a little more, his hand blindly finding the back of Kouyou’s neck to hold him there and shiver. He used Kouyou for balance by leaning a bit of his weight against him after discarding his shirt, shimming his hips free a bit to let his slacks pool around his ankles once slipping over his legs.

This was a bad idea. But now that Kouyou was having it he couldn't stop. He didn't know what had come over him, other than that he wanted to. He so rarely got to do anything he wanted. If Takanori had pulled away from him or told him off he would have stopped in a heartbeat; it would have broken the weird spell he was under, no matter how out of it he was, but Takanori didn't. He held him, sought out for his hand that wasn’t plastered to his back and guided it close to press a lingering kiss at his palm before resting it gently at his throat once his head lulled back atop of Kouyou’s shoulder, plastering his back to his chest. And with it, he took away whatever worries Kouyou had, gone so easily and tossed to the wind.  
  
“Taka,” Kouyou breathed his name like a prayer, slowly kissing and sucking on the spot of skin his mouth claimed until it was red under his ministrations and then moving to another, biting down carefully whilst tracing Takanori’s bared throat and giving a slight squeeze before trailing feather-light down his chest, down down down, and stopping just above the squirm of hips when his fingertips brushed the line of discovered panties– _Panties_. Kouyou felt dizzy.  
  
“Fuck,” He nearly growled, his other hand gripping Taknaori's hip and squeezing, dragging him in a little closer so that he had Takanori plastering his back up against his chest; coaxing a soft moan right out of him. “ _Taka_.” He nearly begged, moving up and breathing his name wrapped around an unvoiced plea in his ear, _needing_ that permission. He would never do anything Takanori wouldn’t want, but if he let him, he'd do anything.

That could have been their window to place an end to this before it got out of hand. It should have made Takanori pause and think – actually _think_ – and stop, the ring on the fourth finger of his left hand said he had a husband, probably waiting for him to come back no matter how out of hand their argument had gotten.  
  
A husband that was inconsistent, hardly home, and hadn’t touched him like this since…  
  
“Yeah,” Takanori breathed with a nod of his head, a thrill tickling the base of his spine. “Yes–” He just needed to get his hands on him, starved enough to need Kouyou’s hands on him, and that was what pushed him to turn so he could crawl his way into Kouyou’s lap and straddle him, cupping his face in his hands and finally meeting his gaze. “Do it,” he edged on in a whisper as he brushed their lips together, his tone husked in arousal and want. “Take them off me.”  
  
That was all the consent Kouyou needed to make whatever sense of control he had over himself, any thoughts that he shouldn't be doing this, snap. He gripped Takanori’s hips and squeezed carefully again, rolling his hips up against him and pressing in for a deep kiss, smothering anything else Takanori had in mind to say. He didn’t have to say anything more.  His pupils were so wide they were overtaking the rest of his iris, breath hitching already, and he nodded in agreement as if it were an afterthought.  
  
His hands hooked under Takanori’s legs and turned them on the bed big enough that he could just roll right on top of him, flipping Takanori’s world askew. Takanori would have used that same momentum to push and turn them himself, but being spread open and held in place did things to a man that had him seeing stars. Takanori, under any and every means necessary, was no exception to it.  
  
Settling between the spread of Takanori’s legs that his hands kept parted, Kouyou shivered. "Baby, look at you,” He murmured low and husky in awe under his breath, kissing and nipping his way slowly down Takanori's neck. “You’re gorgeous.”

Takanori’s head tilted back into the mattress with an unintelligible noise and heart aflutter, his fingers burying in Kouyou’s hair after finally, _finally_ , getting a chance to feel the shaved, faded undercut so intimately; arching into the onslaught of kisses Kouyou heatedly planted on his skin in his slow endeavor down his neck to reach his chest, mouth lingering on his stomach.  His stomach and hips softly trembled under the mercy of Kouyou’s lingering ministrations, and when Kouyou’s teeth dragged the lacy garment down far enough to free his heavy arousal he made sure to lift his head and catch every sight of it. He didn’t want to forget this – he _prayed_ he wouldn’t forget in the morning how Kouyou looked sucking a mark right at the juncture of his hip and leaving a matching bruise on the inside of his thought before–  
  
“Jesus– holy shit,” he swore in a colorful streak – that Kouyou grinned at – through a deep moan the moment Kouyou’s mouth found him, his head thumping back onto the mattress with desperate fingers curling in the other’s hair as if it would help him. He couldn’t stop the way his left thigh gave a strong jolt underneath the palm of Kouyou’s hand as he was held in place, or how his hips automatically shifted to slowly rock into the moist heat of Kouyou’s mouth that felt _too overwhelmingly good_ ; helplessly, blankly, staring up at the ceiling in a heap of agape dusky red lips and flushed pink from the highs of his cheeks to the length of his neck.  
  
Kouyou thought he looked stunning, trying to keep his eyes open and whispering little pleas for Kouyou to keep looking at him the way he did. _Keep looking at me just like that, please–_ He nodded, of course. Gave him exactly what he wanted and sucked him down to the very hilt, his hands moving from holding Takanori’s legs spread to settling on his hips where he did not hold him down but encouraged him to rock up and use him. He could listen to Takanori moan under him for the rest of his life. It was so different; he hadn't had sex for fun since the divorce with Yuu, and he hadn't realized how sad that was until now. That it was with his married friend was something he'd have to deal with later, but for now, he wanted to make Takanori feel good, make him come.

The back of Kouyou’s throat was enough to bring a man to his knees if Takanori was standing up as clipped sounds of pleasure twisted around the wet, lascivious sounds from fucking into his mouth without holding himself back whilst holding Kouyou’s head close. And when Takanori came, he came gasping helpless moans high for the heavens, toes curling– grinding trembling hips up against Kouyou’s face as his head thumped back into the mattress; eyes screwing shut and unable to keep their gaze locked. Kouyou’s mouth lingering to swallow him and chuckle around his mouthful only made his entire body flinch in oversensitivity, a breathy whine pulled from him as he shook his head and pushed weakly at Kouyou’s shoulder with a huffed laugh caught between a moan bubbling richly from out of him, hips squirming a twist in Kouyou’s hands whilst Kouyou slipped off of him with a lewd, little wet _pop_.  
  
That didn’t mean he wanted Kouyou to take his hands off him, no matter how sensitive he felt.  
  
“Oh, fuck,” Takanori sighed dreamily after a moment of trying to gather his thoughts together to form a coherently structured response. No set of words in any vocabulary could explain how floaty he felt, dazed and… shit. Holy shit, it had been one of the best orgasms he’s had outside his collection of toys and he laughed and laughed until his eyes grew teary and the zoo in his stomach dared to whisk him away if he didn’t get his hands on Kouyou any sooner.  His hands needed to be on him now without an inch of his t-shirt stopping him from skin-on-skin contact, to feel Kouyou atop of him. And when he did have him, immediately settling right between the spread of his legs after discarding his shirt when he somehow found the strength to slip a leg out of his lacy panties simply so it could hang off his left ankle, he cupped Kouyou’s face in his hands and gazed at him with heavily lidded eyes. His thumb traced over his lips in a slow brush after taking the time to pepper kisses up and down the column of his neck and the sharp structure of his jawline.  
  
Despite the fact that it was Takanori, Kouyou was still surprised by the gentle caresses, the soft kisses that left little red smudges over his face. Even with the boyfriend experience included in his work, it was a softness he didn't encourage, let alone receive, often. He didn't realize how badly he wanted it… For a sex worker, he was positively touch starved. But when Takanori kissed him, it was the best part. Not an ounce of hesitation in sight. He nearly purred, squeezing Takanori's hips and kissing back deeply, needy. He rolled his hips against his lazily, delighted to find that he was so hard, it almost hurt. Still, he didn't rush, kissing Takanori languid and slow. He knew he would never get this again, but he was going to make it count.  
  
"I want to lay you out," He murmured between their shared kisses, voice low and thrumming. “Make you come again, and again, with my fingers,” kiss. “my mouth,” a deeper kiss, drawing back a smidgen just to breathe a whisper that would curl along the roof of Takanori’s mouth: “my cock.” Takanori’s mouth slacked in need, anticipation trickling hot down his spine and making him dizzy. “I think I can, what about you? Hmm? Maybe take you out onto the balcony and press you up against the glass, give some of the people in the upper floors across the way a show. You look so fucking good."

Let him count the ways... How many times could Kouyou make him come in a single night? Could Kouyou keep up? Could _he_? Hell, he didn’t even know, but it seemed like it was a challenge waiting to be taken to find out.  
  
“You better make promise on taking me on the balcony later,” Takanori husked, running his fingers through Kouyou’s hair as he cupped the nape of his neck with his other hand. “I want them to see how good you make me feel when you fuck me.”  
  
Kouyou wouldn't brag or anything, but he was good at sex. Sure, most people thought they were, but Kouyou was a professional. It was what he did for a living. But this? This wasn't work. This was a delight, how insatiable Takanori was under him, around him, over him. He felt like he was eighteen all over again, young and easy and chasing the ocean’s waves that always returned to crash along the shore no matter how many times it strayed away, and not thirty. Every time he thought they were finished Takanori would shift or move or make a sweet sound that had him rearing to go all over again, all over the hotel room. The bed, the floor, the bathtub, the bathroom countertop.  
  
The balcony.  
  
Another orgasm wasn’t possible, Takanori said. No matter how full he wanted to be of Kouyou, again, no matter how much hearing him call him _baby_ set him off – and other names of endearment that never failed to get home going throughout the night – he just… it was _too much_ as Kouyou rolled his hips to fuck him slowly just as he wanted. But the pleasure was there, thrumming under his skin and coiling tight in his groin with a sob of pleasure. Kouyou just needed Takanori to keen his name when he came one more time, for the rising sun to bear witness just as the moon had and hear how he successfully coaxed it out of him, eyes wet and painted fingernails dragging across his back for the umpteenth time as he trembled in Kouyou’s hold; it would see reason why Kouyou’s chest fluttered as they panted heavily, clinging to one another and daring to never let go.  
  
Takanori was perfect. Kouyou had touched all of him, tasted him, listened to him keen and cry in pleasure, and he was sure of it. There wasn’t a single person in the world more perfect than Takanori Matsumoto and he didn't want to let go of him, didn't want to move away or out of him right away, so he didn't. He rested atop of him, trying desperately to catch his breath in stuttering little gasps that found safety on Takanori’s chest and the comforting hand passing through wet locks; the scatter of little kisses pressed close to his forehead his eyes closed against as they found stability together in each other’s arms.  
  
He was all fucked out, had expended more energy with Takanori than he had on his client before him, and between the lot he was pretty sure he was going to sleep until tomorrow. Never mind that later entailed everything would come crashing down on them and they would have to talk.   
  
But, later was later and sleep was needed, and the pair ended up passing out in a matter of minutes after shifting to do so. At least for a few hours. Takanori stirred from his sleep only when Kouyou carefully shifted out of him, and to soothe the near-automatic sensation of being empty he gripped onto Kouyou, drowsily mumbling for him to come back so he could cradle his head back to his chest, where it belonged; oblivious to the rising sun and the early morning that bled into the afternoon.  
  
When either of them stirred, Kouyou was the first to wake. Simply because he was starving, and his head was throbbing. They'd drank all those little alcohol shooters last night – including more than a few body shots – but a bump of coke and alcohol didn't mix. Not the next morning, at least. His tired body shifted and he rubbed his face against the pillow under him with a low groan. There was the feeling of a body next to him, but that wasn't too uncommon, so it took him a while before he carefully wiggled out of the loose grip around his waist and sat up, rubbing his head. He felt like he'd been hit by a train – or fucked by one – with how much his entire body ached and betrayed him.  
  
He finally forced his eyes open, looking down at the sleeping soundly beside him and… he froze. Takanori. He'd thought... Well, admittedly, he'd thought it was a dream. That Takanori had drunk-dialed him around the time he'd finished working, that he'd come here, that they'd– fuck. Fuck. Last night had been… ridiculous. And amazing. _Absolutely_ amazing. He’d forgotten how much fun it was to have sex for... well, fun. Until now.  
  
Had he just ruined everything?  
  
Kouyou worried his lip. Had almost reached out to brush some of Takanori's hair away from his face. Almost, started to even, before he caught himself and pulled back. Would he be upset with him? Maybe he wouldn't care – maybe he and his husband had some open-relationship agreement or something and he just hadn't realized it. He almost wished that was the case, because then he could feel a little better about Takanori’s husband hiring him, if that were the case… But he had a feeling it wasn't.  
  
He didn't regret sleeping with Takanori, not like he did sleeping with his husband, but if he lost Takanori because of it, it would be even worse.  
  
 “…Taka?”  
  
The sound of his name earned a groggy little noise out of him, hellbent to keep his eyes closed. Takanori was dimly aware of the faint-nausea waiting for him to sit up all too fast and the brightness of the day being too much for his eyes that would feel like there was a little too much pressure behind them.  
  
“Kouyou,” Takanori echoed back after a moment, careful and slow. He peeked open an eye just to be sure of his surroundings. Kouyou’s heart felt as if it was lodged in his throat when their gazes met. He didn't... look angry, despite the deep sigh he slowly exhaled with a slight shake of his head. Not that he could really tell, with how exhausted they both were. “Lay back down. I’m not talking about this while sitting up. I don’t have the strength to.”   
  
Kouyou managed a weak, exhausted chuckle, sliding back down to lay out next to Takanori again – _not_ wrapped around each other like they were before – but Takanori’s fingers itched to trace his fingertips over Kouyou’s brow, down the slope of his nose and over his cupid’s bow like he had when they found themselves in the bathtub hours ago. Instead, his fingertips twitching softly against the pillow caught Kouyou’s attention. “...We were both– Pretty fucked up last night."  
  
“To say the least,” Takanori agreed, joining in with his own weak, exhausted chuckle, rubbing the remaining sleep out of his eye with another deep sigh. His smile eased the small ache in Kouyou’s chest a little bit as they simply gazed at each other in the lulled silence they shared, tracing over a lone dusky patch of freckles on his cheek once his smile simmered down to just a faint yet soft tilt. “I won’t… say I regret it. I won’t say sorry. It isn’t a regret to me.” He reached out to rest his smaller hand atop of Kouyou’s, as if to further assure him as he shrugged a bare shoulder.  
  
Kouyou didn’t know why he expected Takanori to freak out. Having him admit that much was was more than he'd expected to get, but Takanori always surprised him. No matter how he insisted they couldn't ever do this again was–No, that was fair. Perhaps sad, but fair. Of course they couldn't. Takanori was married. Married to someone that was cheating on him, but–  
  
He wanted to tell him. He _should_ tell him. Right now. Before things got more out of hand.  
  
“Taka-" Kouyou started–  
  
“But I can’t do this again. Last night was amazing, but I just…”  
  
–but he let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, because he hadn't known what he was going to say. He couldn't tell him. He just couldn't. “...Yeah.” It really had been amazing. Really, really amazing. It was a memory Kouyou was going to hold onto forever. “I get it.” He added gently, because he understood. Of course this couldn't happen again. No matter how much the feeling of something sinking to the bottom in his gut wanted it to.  
  
Now that he knew he did... he didn't know how he was going to function around Takanori. Knowing what he felt like, what he tasted like. How on earth was he going to go back to just being friends?  
  
Takanori worried his lip, his eyebrows furrowing in thought. “…If it makes anything difficult and awkward, I’ll understand. If you wanted to stop being friends.” Just saying it made Takanori’s throat constrict on itself, making the effort to swallow around it a touch difficult. Kouyou’s short answers were a little worrisome, and he didn’t even know if it was okay to touch him after everything, didn’t know what was fine and what wasn’t anymore. It would hurt a hell of a lot if Kouyou left, but he could live with it. It wouldn’t be anything he hasn’t picked himself up from before, after all, but this was different. The circumstances were so much more… complicated.  
  
“No,” Kouyou immediately argued, reaching for Takanori when Takanori started to retract his hand and carefully grabbed  for his arm before thinking better of it and letting go. Touching wasn’t a good idea. They were both still naked and sticky and curled in just a little too close, even with how spacious the bed wazs. It was dangerous. If he said the wrong thing here, it would fuck him over. “God, no. I don't want to stop being friends with you because we had amazing sex. That's crazy.” He insisted, shaking his head and immediately regretting it. “I'm just– fuck, Taka. I'm so hung over. I think I'm dying.” He admitted, even if he knew that wasn't really all of it. It was enough. He could shove down the rest, the ache in his chest, the want, the longing. The urge to curl back up around him, to tell him to remove the ring from around his finger and stay here, with him. And for what? He was a sex worker riding the line of an addict. Kouyou wasn't a good boyfriend, an alright friend.  
  
He was a great one time, mad-at-your-husband-fuck. That was all he was good for. The last thing he needed was for Takanori to realize that.  
  
But he was rewarded a bubble of soft laughter when he just didn’t have the right words to say, and Kouyou relaxed under the blanket of Takanori’s warmth that draped over him as the back of Takanori’s hand brushed against his between them. “That makes the two of us.” Takanori quietly murmured with an amused smile, and Kouyou returned it with his very own.  
  
Once they stepped out of this room, it would be the end. They wouldn’t speak of it and never mention it to each other again. It was the best option for them both. Nothing could become anything more by default, so there was no need for him nor Kouyou to think otherwise. Not that Takanori thought he would, mind. He wasn’t _that_ foolish to believe that Kouyou would want anything more, even if the circumstances were different.  
  
Besides, what else could Kouyou possibly say between the agreement on brunch and a shared bath? I haven't had sex for fun since my divorce? Nope, too pathetic. You were perfect and your husband doesn't deserve you? Also, a no. I think I'm in love with you?  
  
Hard. Fucking. No.  
  
And it probably wasn’t true, anyways. Sex did that, hormones and adrenaline having a track history of making the brain wonky. So what if he'd been feeling this warm ache in his chest _long_ before they slept together? Long ago running from no one that chased them with laughter on their lips and snowflakes in their lungs; first love epiphanies under streetlights and missing heartbeats with a whispered _goodnight_ tucked into the softest kiss he’d ever experienced outside of Takanori’s home doorstep after walking him home. That wasn't for someone like him. Not anymore. He’d been foolish to think he could have it with Yuu; he would be even more of a fool to think he could have it with Takanori.  
  
But Kouyou could agree to food and a hot bath, to making Takanori laugh and flush all in the same breath when they mutually observed their collateral damage made last night to compare hickeys and marks and whistle at the scratch marks on Kouyou’s back that stung when he soaked in the hot bath. Perhaps it was  _because_ they wouldn't ever sleep together again that it meant something nice. After all, Takanori certainly wasn't trying to flatter him because he wanted to have sex again. He was the one who said they couldn't. If Takanori wanted to, he would. Awful, he knew. But he’d always had a hard time saying no to him.  
  
They ate their respective breakfast into a comfortable lull of silence until they stretched out in a relaxed soak. It was exactly what their sore muscles needed. Once they were finished with their bath, Takanori stepped out first to retrieve towels and toss one Kouyou’s way after securing one around his waist and using another to dry his hair. Staying another night wasn’t an option on the table for him to take, despite Kouyou staying to rest. It wasn’t meant to be there in the first place. But if Kouyou had asked him to stay? If Kouyou stopped him in the middle of getting dressed, or further drying his hair, or from trying to find his goddamn panties – he found them on the balcony draped on the railing; Kouyou laughed until his sides hurt – and so much as  _suggested_  he stay another night?

He didn’t know. He truly didn’t know.  
  
It never came. Even when he asked Kouyou to fasten his necklace around his neck.

“I’ll text you the moment I get home and my phone’s charged,” Takanori promised as he adjusted his shoe whilst making his way to the door. The damn thing had died in the middle of the night and he’d had to see about taking a taxi back home. He didn’t mind it, though. Kouyou paid for his ride last night, and he wouldn’t let him do it again.  
  
“Alright. Are you sure you don't want me to take care of your ride?" Kouyou asked curiously, shifting off the bed adorned in one of the hotel’s white, fluffy robes to see Takanori off. He'd kept a considerable distance while he looked for his things until he was completely dressed, but now that he was and it was obvious he was leaving he could approach him, walk him to the door at least. 

Takanori shook his head and mustered up a small smile as he looked up at Kouyou and paused in the doorway. After this, he was closing the book and he didn’t plan on reopening it. But… he could leave something to seal it closed, couldn’t he? Something that was nice and itching insistently at his gut.

Before he thought too much about it, he reached to rest his hand at the crook of Kouyou’s neck and pushed up to meet the gentle, downward pull he coaxed Kouyou to lower in halfway into hugging him goodbye, and pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth, leaving behind a kiss print in its wake when he pulled back slowly. Gentle. Like flowers kept forever, tucked away in an old book.

“Take care, Shima,” He murmured close to his skin, absently stroking his thumb across the nape of his neck.

“I'll see you soon,” Kouyou promised, resisting the urge to lean into that touch for a moment longer before Takanori let him go and stepped right out. The door swung close with a sound of finality and he stood there for a moment or two longer, just staring at the closed hotel door before passing a frustrated hand through his hair, helpless to the soft tremble that seeped into his deep sigh as he pressed his fingertips gingerly to his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose under the realization that he had almost turned his head to kiss him; almost asked him to stay. Asked him to  _stay._ Not just for tonight, but longer. To make that jog out and stop him from getting into the elevator in nothing but the robe on his back and the hangover clinging to his bones and tell him to stay here, with him. Just him.  
  
“Fuck.”  
  
He was in love with Takanori.  _Again._ That hadn't ended well for him when he was eighteen, and it wouldn't end well for him now.  
  
After all, love wasn't for people like him.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He truly was pathetic... wasn't he?_

“I slept with Taka last night.”

“Christ,” Yuu's annoyed voice said exasperatedly from the other end of the phone, and Kouyou didn't blame him for his frustration. He hadn't actually said hello or anything, just called him and dropped that in his lap. He shouldn't have called, he was probably with Yutaka, or their  _daughter._ He didn't need to be dumping this on him. But wasn't that what friends were for? “You  _what_?”  
  
“I slept with Taka last night,” Kouyou repeated without a missed beat, racking a hand through his hair and fumbling to light his cigarette as he stood out onto the hotel’s balcony. “He came over after my gig. He was drunk– he had a fight with his husband. I–" He hadn't told him about Takanori’s husband, of course. Yuu and Yutaka  _adored_ Takanori, and the last thing he wanted was to make things weird between them at all.

"Shit. Is he upset?" Yuu asked, already sounding worried. Kouyou figured he was probably worried this was going to dump him right off the wagon – the two-wheeled wagon that was already tipping at any given point in time – and back into a place he didn’t want to be, so he quickly shook his head.

"No, he was– He was fine with it, actually." Too fine, if anyone asked him, but he would never judge Takanori any. "I– shit, Yuu, I don’t know. I didn't… I didn’t want him to go." He finally admitted, voice soft and tight with emotion he couldn't snuff out underneath the drag he pulled from his cigarette. He wished he hadn't said it, because Yuu’s softly expelled,  _Oh, Kouyou_ made his heart ache and his throat constrict. The fact that he was talking about this with his ex-husband wasn't lost on him.

He truly was pathetic, wasn’t he?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t be anything, wasn’t allowed to be anything more.
> 
> But what if it could?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final part! Thank you for letting me share this with all of you (´ ▽｀).。ｏ♡

The taxi ride home was quiet. Takanori wasn’t in the mood for conversation, which was a wonder in itself, because normally he enjoyed indulging drivers from time to time the probed about where he was going, what pitstop did life drop him off at and where did they need to carry him. There was a small feeling in his chest that kind of ached – hardly there, but persistent enough to draw attention to it. It was never there before, and the more he contemplated over it, the more frustrated he became at himself. Strange. He could almost say it made him miss Kouyou when he recalled his voiced promise of seeing him soon. But that didn’t make any sense. He’d just seen him, spent the night with him,  _bathed with him_  and laughed over finding his panties on the balcony; breathed him in and exhaled the urge to kiss him before leaving.  
  


It wasn’t possible to miss someone immediately after you’ve just seen them. It was odd enough that it provoked the craziest idea to tell the driver to go back, as if he had left something behind and he needed to go back and retrieve it. Or he needed to go back and… what? Stay?  
  


Takanori frowned. No, he couldn’t. He was hungover, his body was betraying him for all those body shots and the drinks he had before going over to Kouyou’s hotel room, and it was making him feel weird, overthinking something he shouldn’t be worrying about. What he needed to worry about was his husband and the shit he needed to sort out with him. You just don’t drunkenly cheat on your husband and go hiding with your friend you slept with.  
  


That wasn’t the case, though. He could feel it in his bones as he paid the cab driver and thanked her with a tiny smile before shutting the door behind him and walking up his driveway, nearly collapsing on his knees to thank his lucky stars when he noted the car wasn’t in the driveway. Strangely enough, he wasn’t even worried about the incident in general because it wasn’t anything and he wasn’t going to repeat it. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t be anything, wasn’t  _allowed_ to be anything more.  
  


_What if it could have been?_   
  


That odd sensation gnawing at him in nibbles inside chest made him rub at his eyes with the balls of his hands with a frustrated huff when they began to whelm up with tears for no apparent reason at all after greeting Koron. It wouldn’t leave him alone no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. By the time he pulled himself upstairs to log into his laptop and type up a message to Kouyou’s number to inform him he made it home, he felt more tired than he did earlier.

  
**T:**  Made it back. Hope you’re resting.  
  


He stared at his computer screen a little longer, worrying his lower lip. With hesitant hands, he typed into the chat box once more.  
  


**T:**   _I just saw you, but I wish we had more time together. Crazy, right?_  
  


Takanori frowned, staring at the message for what felt to be forever before deleting it all together one press of the backspace button at a time and trying again.  
  


**T:** _Thanks for last night._   
  


Fuck, no. The sex was amazing, yes, and it wasn't what he came to Kouyou's hotel room for in the first place in the least bit, but it wasn’t  _just_  about that.  
  


**T:** _I miss you._   
  


Those three little words had Takanori sniffling the longer he looked at them on his screen, blinking back frustrated tears and finding difficulty in the simple act to swallow when his throat hurt just from the attempt alone. In the end, he tapped insistently at the backspace button and shook his head with a forced little laugh.  
  


“Fuck,” He tiredly choked up, heavily propping his elbow atop of the desk and resting his forehead into the palm of his hand to brace himself as his chest caved in and crumbled under the ache of longing and an unmerciful pang of sadness that could never be explained, only felt.  
  


Hangover. It was the hangover. He just needed to sleep it off, and he'd be right as rain.   
  


Right as rain.

**Author's Note:**

> Back again with a tumblr prompt request for angst! I feel like it's been a long while since I've written anything like it, but I crafted this little au 3-part story just for her and I hope she enjoys it♡ The last two additions will simply be the aftermath. Nothing too lengthy, but just enough of a continuation (that didn't seem to fit with this since I gelt it seemed better off standing on its own)


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